


the heart is the hardest thing to fake

by onanotherworld



Series: dancing with the devil [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Some Fluff, can be read as a standalone, part two of the series: foggy is so damn nice, some blood, why does he get hurt?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onanotherworld/pseuds/onanotherworld
Summary: Foggy just wants to keep him safe. Is that so much to ask? It seems that way, when Matt stares at him in his not-so-blind way, behind those bruise-coloured glasses. Matt’s smile is all sweetness, but hard too, like razorblades in candy.**Being in league with the devil isn't all it's cracked up to be.





	the heart is the hardest thing to fake

**Author's Note:**

> *sighs* i just love Foggy Nelson

Foggy just wants to keep him safe. Is that so much to ask? It seems that way, when Matt stares at him in his not-so-blind way, behind those bruise-coloured glasses. Matt’s smile is all sweetness, but hard too, like razorblades in candy.

It’s then that Foggy knows that he can’t win. Can’t keep him safe and whole and unbroken – even if Matt would have let him. 

It makes him, out on the street in the middle of a sweltering New York day, makes him cold. He pastes a small smile on his face anyhow, and tries to make his voice as light as possible.

“I know, Matt. I know what you do is what you think is important. It’s okay.” He aches to say what he knows he can’t - _I’m important, too._ Matt’s face relaxes, and he claps Foggy on the shoulder with almost painful strength and relief. He grins at Foggy.

“Thanks, pal. I knew you’d get it,” his face is close, closer than Foggy can bear, and he backs up a step, letting the heat sear a space between them. He knows that Matt can hear his quick heartbeat, and is simultaneously embarrassed and saddened. Foggy realises that Matt must’ve guessed, and not cared enough to bring it up. 

Of course, Matt, being the martyr that he is, probably believes that he is protecting Foggy from humiliation and inevitable rejection – but Foggy knows the deeper, and more selfish motive. Knows that if Matt Murdock wanted to discuss it, he’d drag Foggy and his feelings into the light, kicking and screaming if need be. 

This was Matt being selfish, and Foggy cursed himself for ever thinking that Matt was perfect. He recognises Matt’s flaws, now, and thinks that he might have matured, just a little bit. Foggy read somewhere that trauma can do that to a person.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s get to somewhere marginally cooler. I think I just sweat a layer of skin off.”

**

Back at the office, Karen looks like she’s roasting, with delicate sweat patches under her arms. Her hair is up in a tight knot away from her face to keep it from sticking in the moisture. “Here,” she puffs, sticking a small mountain of folders into his arms. 

Stumbling slightly under the unexpected weight, he says with a smile, “Jeez, Karen, warn a guy!” He makes a show of juggling his bag and almost dropping the folders. Karen just smiles indulgently at him, and Foggy pouts back. 

“Those need to be organised – there’re to do with the Fisk case.” She says, sweeping a lock of errant hair from her forehead. 

“Isn’t that what we have you for?” Foggy jokes, “So the lawyers can, y’know, lawyer it up without the unholy burden of paperwork.” 

Karen laughs, “You wish, Foggy. I just organise you,” she pokes him in the forehead with her index finger. 

“Captain, my captain!” Foggy salutes with his free hand, nearly knocking Matt’s glasses off, from where he was listening (watching? To be honest, Foggy doesn’t really know anymore) the proceedings with a troubled expression.

“Sorry, Matt.” Foggy says, rather shortly, the conversation on the sidewalk outside still too fresh to forget. Karen frowns in puzzlement at them, and Matt looks like a kicked puppy. Foggy rolls his eyes to himself; with all that’s going on, all the puppies in the world – and Foggy reluctantly puts Matt in that category – wouldn’t stop Foggy being pissed and hurt, even if he can swallow it.

“Right.” Foggy sighs, any humour gone. “Playtime over, it’s time to work.” He shoulders his bag from where it had been drooping with the heat against his leg, and adjusts his grip on the files, moving awkwardly to his desk. Matt opens his mouth, expression troubled, but closes it again, brows furrowed. Karen looks between them uncertainly.

“Is everything alright with you two?” Karen hesitantly asked, glancing between them. 

Foggy glances up with a smile – privately, however, he rolls his eyes as Matt looks curious too. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“If you’re sure,” says Karen, one eyebrow raised. 

A couple of hours later, the office is full to bursting, and the heat is almost enough to make Foggy strip off, regardless of his clients. When he mentions this to Karen, she smirks to herself.

“What?” Foggy protests playfully, “Why wouldn’t anyone want to get a look at this hot bod of mine?” 

Karen actually laughs at that. “Oh, it’s not who’d want to _see_ it,” Foggy just looks puzzled, while Matt turns bright red behind them. 

He doesn’t have time to question, as an old woman enters the office with a prosthetic foot in one hand, and a wrinkled man chasing her with a pronounced limp, swearing in Punjabi. Foggy mutters to Karen, and to a lesser extent, Matt, “See, that class in college wasn’t just for picking up hot babes.”

Karen just slaps his arm.

**

In his dreams, he remembers the bruising, the blood tracing under the skin. Remembers two black eyes and broken ribs and the tracks of salt on Matt’s cheeks.

And, last of all, he remembers sitting.

Processing. Relearning. 

“Where do we go from here?” He asks, “What do we do now?” He asks this because this is how it’s always been; where Matt goes, Foggy follows. Even when Foggy was wavering, leaning towards a future with Marci, he knows with a gut certainty, that if a choice had needed to be made, he would have chosen Matt every time.

He kind of regrets this now, all his decisions that led to this moment – sitting in the glaring light of the blue advertising board, watching the light bounce of Matt’s not-so sightless eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Matt swallows, one long pull of his throat. When he speaks, his voice his hoarse from tears. “Wherever you want.” His words are expressionless. Foggy feels hysteria build, and thinks _this is too much_. He snaps.

“No! No! You do not slam me with the decision-making! Not here! Not now!” Foggy breathes heavily, and his eyes are wild and glazed.

He remembers Matt, just staring in that broken way of his, and Foggy crumples and cries. But most of all, he remembers Matt, just staring and staring and staring, until Foggy felt he could fall into him, and continue to fall forever.

**

“Karen,” Foggy says as he leans towards her in the sweltering office, listening to the woman cursing her husband and his fake foot in rapid Punjabi. “How long do we let this go on for?”

Karen has her hands over her mouth, and her cheeks are puffy with suppressed laughter. “For as long as we can,” she whispers shakily back, amusement hiccupping her voice.

Foggy kind of wishes he had a camera when the woman snaps the toes off the prosthetic. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt stands, solemn as ever, his white shirt glued to his chest, and Foggy – although he’ll never admit it, mad as he is – chokes on his own spit. 

Karen turns away from the raging couple and sees what Foggy is looking at. Her eyes bulge, and she breaks down into hysterical laughter. 

The woman turns and glares. _Oh no,_ Foggy thinks, as the giggly feeling of suppressed emotions combines with the hilarity of the woman holding a foot as if it was a weapon of mass destruction. 

Foggy burst into uncontrollable giggles, and even Matt smiles slightly in response, sad puppy eyes and all. 

The woman curses them creatively, sending Foggy further into gales of laughter, all the emotions of the last few weeks spilling out of him in one great rush. He might actually pee himself a little, but that’s between him and his laundromat. 

**

Matt tries to catch him on the way out of the office. The evening is hot, and the air feels drawn tight between the buildings of Hell’s Kitchen. Foggy so, so desperately wants to ignore Matt, and continue walking – but, but, as always, something stops him. 

“Matt,” Foggy turns, pushing hair off his sticky forehead. 

Something in his tone makes Matt stop a few feet away from him and Foggy wants him so much closer and so much farther away at the same time. Foggy is so _done_ with emotions. 

“Foggy,” Matt replies, and there’s that sad puppy voice again. Foggy has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Matt draws in a deep breath, and asks, in one big rush, “Do you want to go to Josie’s?”

There’s something ever-so hopeful in his tone, and that just sticks the pins back into the voodoo doll that Foggy’s body has become. But he can’t, not right now, not yet, not when his last memory of going to that bar was when everything was alright, when he thought he knew everything there was to know about Matt Murdock. 

Matt’s expression droops, almost as if he knows what the answer will be, and Foggy feels his heart wrench. But he can’t. Foggy thinks he deserves to be selfish, now. 

So, he says, as gently as he can make himself, “Sorry, pal, not tonight. Want to get an early one in, you know?”

Matt’s shoulders drop, “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, and Foggy walks away, into the heat shimmer off the pavement, ignoring the sad little _tap-tap_ of Matt’s cane. But even that’s soured, now that he knows.

**

Mostly, Foggy wishes to forget. To go back. But, he’s not as dumb as some people think. Knowing has changed something in him, and the Devil in Matt has imprinted behind his eyes. Knowing has altered the way Foggy views the world, as dramatic as that is. Knowing has brought a sort of power over Matt, as Matt holds power over him – but Foggy was okay with that power that Matt held, knew that Matt would never use it against him.

But that was before Foggy knew. What would Matt do to protect himself? Foggy thought he knew that answer. Now, he’s not so sure.

God, Foggy just wants to go _back._

**

That night, when the only sounds are the faraway sirens wailing, and the yowl of cats, Foggy lies down on his bed and tries to sleep. 

He’s almost asleep, thoughts wandering in the direction of whether Medusa’s leg hairs were tiny snakes, for some reason best known to his subconscious, that he hears a thump on his tiny balcony. 

Loud swearing follows, jolting Foggy truly wide-awake. If he’s being honest, he’s kinda impressed by the burglar/murderer’s creative swearing. He giggles, only a touch hysterically, and he’s proud of himself for that. 

Foggy reaches around for something to use as a weapon, and grabs the first thing to hand. He sneaks towards the swearing burglar/murderer, and raises his makeshift weapon above his head. The intruder is trying to jimmy the lock open, but the joke’s on them, he doesn’t lock his balcony door (what, he’s like fifteen stories up, who the hell would go all this way to steal stuff from his crappy apartment? This guy, apparently). 

Foggy wrenches open the door, and the person falls in sideways. He raises his weapon to strike, and finds Matt’s green-brown eyes staring up at him from his floor. Matt’s clutching at a leg wound that is bleeding onto his carpet. Damn, Foggy’s not getting his deposit back.

“A pillow?” Matt sarcastically pants from the floor. “Seriously, Foggy?” God, Foggy is in love with this man, but right now he hates him _so much_.

So Foggy does the only thing one can do in this situation. He hits Matt in the face with the pillow.

**

Before, when Matt was dragging himself, bloody and broken towards Foggy’s apartment, his heart, normally so obedient, began to race and race. He did not know what kind of welcome he’d receive.

His heart raced, and he hoped. 

**

After, when Foggy’s finished tying a makeshift bandage onto Matt’s leg, he grunts, “I’m still mad at you.”

Matt sighs through his nose. “I know.” 

“We’re going to have to talk about this at some point, you realise, Matt.”

“I know.” 

“Good.” Foggy settles back into his couch, bringing up his hands to wipe at his heavy eyes, before seeing that they’re covered in Matt’s blood. It’s so surreal. His head swims and he can feel himself pale. His heart rate increases, and Matt’s head tilts. 

“Go to bed, Foggy,” Matt says, so gently that Foggy feels like crying.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Foggy says, and his voice only wavers once. Matt’s mouth twists and his hand twitches towards Foggy. 

He gets up, walking slowly past Matt on his lumpy and much-stained couch. He stumbles when Matt’s hand flashes out, grabbing him by the thigh. Foggy turns, heart rate rising. 

Ever-so earnest eyes stare up at him, fixing to Foggy’s face. Matt’s voice is strong and low and deep, “Thank you, Foggy, for your help. You’re a - a better friend than I deserve. I just wanted to tell you – thanks. For everything.”

Foggy’s throat feels thick and his legs clumsy. His arms hang by his sides, limp from exhaustion. Matt removes his hand from Foggy’s thigh, but his eyes never leave Foggy’s face.

Matt reaches and touches Foggy’s hand, covered in his own blood, and brings it to his lips. Foggy’s mind, slow and tired though it was, grinds to a halt. And, oh, Foggy’s caught all over again and held so sure.

Matt’s lips and hands are gentle and sure, and Foggy can feel the warmth of his mouth moving over his knuckles, the lithe strength and callus of his boxer’s hands. 

Foggy swallows thickly, and whispers, “It’s – just – what else could I do, but help you, Matt?”

Something unreadable flits through Matt’s eyes, and he releases Foggy. His arm floats back towards his side, but Foggy’s eyes are still locked with Matt’s. 

Matt smiles. It is a small, quiet thing, Matt’s smile. Makes you think that no-one’s every seen it before. “Get some sleep,” he tells Foggy softly. 

Foggy stumbles away to his bedroom, as if in a trance, and sleeps.

**

In the morning, Foggy thinks, somewhat ruefully, that he’s now in league with the Devil.

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo thanks for reading. the first part of this series is on ao3 too. 
> 
> i just sometimes with matt murdock? can he ever say what he really means? who knows


End file.
